


Brightest Heaven of Invention

by OceanofNoise



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Body Worship, Double Life, First Kiss, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanofNoise/pseuds/OceanofNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evgeni Malkin is an artist. Sidney Crosby is his muse. Somehow they still find time to play professional NHL hockey together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brightest Heaven of Invention

**Author's Note:**

> Not a muse in the traditional sense, but... yeah. Sorry in advance if Geno is perceived as a little snobbish (hey, I'm North American too!), but as he always says, "Russia best ))))))))))".
> 
> Title is from Shakespeare's _Henry V_.

It wasn’t as humiliating as he had originally expected when he was outed as an artist.

No one took responsibility for divulging this information as it was basically an open secret among his friends and family so really, he was surprised that it had taken this long for the cat to come out of the bag, as the Americans liked to say.

He wasn’t even all that embarrassed. It was nothing to be ashamed of. He was proud of the work that he’d done; why else would he allow it to fall into public scrutiny? His art endeared him, almost to the point that hockey did. Not as much, because he had chosen one full-time over the other. But it was something that he could never really let go. Mama encouraged him to seek methods of expression outside of hockey because a good, well-rounded boy (and now he was a man, damn it all) needed the brash and the beautiful to balance. The sure movements he made with his skates on a sheet of ice were just as intricate as those of his pencil on a sheet of paper.

Thankfully he was in Pittsburgh when the news broke. Thankfully it didn’t make it past the sports networks and a few niche art communities. He didn’t know how he would have fared in Russia, where accountability for a double life may have been enough to earn a search warrant for his home in Moscow. At least in North America, he would be given an outlet to explain himself. Not that he had much to say. Yes, he did release his paintings under the name Andrei Mravinsky and yes, he had wanted it to remain a secret, but what else were you gonna do except just go out and play some hockey?

The team wasn’t sure how to react. None of them were art purveyors, not even in the slightest sense. They probably couldn’t even differentiate Dali from Picasso.

Nevertheless he endured the chirps from a few of the guys. But really, they had no idea what the hell they were talking about. He caught the eye of a few of them, something like a mix of astonishment and confusion. He just slipped his helmet over his head and shrugged at them.

He didn’t expect any of them to really understand. For most of them, hockey had been their whole lives and that kind of mindset had nearsighted them to some of the finer, more eclectic aspects of life. He didn’t have to look very far to make that point. Just look at American cuisine. Or American television. It was no wonder why most of his teammates reacted the way they did. They had spent their entire lives in cultural depravity.

 

It wasn’t long before the team tired of the unsolicited chirping and went back to their usual insults. Of this Evgeni was glad. Before long they would probably forget about it altogether in so long as nobody brought it up again. People seldom paid an interest to what they weren’t inclined to. What did a typical hockey player need with the arts?

Of course, there were always the exceptions.

Sidney skated up to him during warm-ups at practice one day and asked out of the blue “What kind of art do you do?”

No one on the team had asked up to that point, although Evgeni hadn’t expected them to. Art was art to them; indistinguishable and irrelevant to their lives. Hidden were hardships, meaning, and a soul bore to any passing critic eager to pull the trigger.

Sometimes, when he thought about it, his second life wasn’t entirely opposite from his first.

“What you mean?” He didn’t define himself to a particular type of movement although a few art theorists had suggested that his pieces really showed a slant of—

“Like do you draw? Paint?”

“Paint. Need to draw first before paint,” he answered with a grin.

But his grin faltered when the look on Sidney’s eyes conveyed a sense of embarrassment, like he thought Evgeni was talking down to him so he quickly added “But I like sketch too.” There was so much more that he wanted to add.

Being a professional athlete meant that he had seen more than his fair share of naked men, some in more unflattering lights than others. But Sidney, his holy God. He was beautiful in a way that even his gushing female fans could not understand. Make no mistake. Evgeni’s eyes were not the keenest, even for a semi-successful artist. But he could never stop himself from taking a few extra glances when he could, absorbing the way the light played on his lines and his cuts, from the arch of his cheekbones, the pertness of his ass and stout thickness of his thighs.

Critically speaking, Sidney was the most perfect specimen of a male body that Evgeni had ever had the pleasure of viewing in its full glory.

And normally he would not be ashamed to say that he had tried to put this perfection to paper. By memory, locked in his studio late at night, he failed again and again. Evgeni wanted to share it with the world. He owed it to his patrons to see what beauty he had seen.

It really sounded nobler and less creepy in his head.

Sidney nodded, leaning against his stick and biting the inside of his bottom lip before continuing. “What kinds of things do you paint and sketch?”

“Anything. Landscapes. Animals. Sometimes people.” His eyes flickered onto the ice.

“You should let us see your art,” Sidney blurted, then flushed at his own daring. “I mean, if you want to. It just sounds so cool. I’d love to see some of the stuff you’ve made.”

“All original art in Russia,” Evgeni replied. “A few in small galleries, but mostly at home in Moscow. But have photographs.”

“Can I see them?”

He mentally catalogued the curve of Sidney’s plush lips when he said yes.

 

All things considered, Evgeni thought that he was handling his outing gracefully. There were still some members of the media swarming around him with questions about his second life and he felt like he had fielded them pretty well considering his limited English: how did you get into this business (his agent had seen his work and referred to him another agent, who referred to him others in the art industry), how did you pick your stage name (no rhyme or reason really, just pulled out a random surname and given name), how did you pick your subjects (he picked whatever he considered beautiful), what do you consider beautiful (ummm… no comment).

It wasn’t like he was some renowned artist or anything. He had been a relative unknown and he was perfectly fine with that. He hadn’t wanted his hockey career to influence others’ judgment on his art. Although he supposed that the lines would have inevitably been blurred, then crossed, especially in this day and age. It would have been naïve to think otherwise.

He let Sidney into his home, insisted that Sidney ease himself onto his loveseat, offered him a plethora of drinks before handling him a bottle of water and then set his laptop on the coffee table.

It was almost hypnotic, seeing images of his work reflected in each of Sidney’s hazel eyes. His mouth was agape as he scrolled through the gallery of images, occasionally making a comment or two.

“Is that Oksana?” he asked abruptly. It was a sketch of her, laying on a daybed. Her back was turned toward him and her arm held the thin drapery around her barely to the point of decency.

“Yes,” Evgeni said.

“You probably have a lot of art of her,” said Sidney, his voice cracking nervously just a bit.

Evgeni shook his head. He had loved her and considered her beautiful in a more modern sense. But she was not content to be a subject in his art. She did not enjoy posing. And although she was a bit of an exhibitionist and never had to be persuaded very much to take off her clothes, she liked to dress up and go out, not sit at home and let Evgeni take her painstakingly in on paper or canvas. If she could barely make it through a sketch there would be no hope for a painting. Consequently this was his only piece of her. Neither of them had enjoyed the experience.

And that was perfectly fine. Except, well, she liked to go out too often. And some nights he really could not be bothered, preferring instead to hole himself up in his studio. And that was eventually what precipitated their most recent (and in all likelihood, final) break-up.

“You’re very talented,” was Sidney’s concluding statement when he browsed through the last of it. All of Sidney’s comments came in the form of different variations of “wow that’s good” but Evgeni held them to his heart like he did the a professional critic’s praise. The fact that Sidney was interested at all was a compliment in itself.

“Wish I could do more,” he lamented, almost to himself. It was a pretty modest photo gallery on his MacBook Pro.

“I guess you don’t really have much time with the hockey season and all,” Sidney agreed.

That was true, to a certain extent. Most of his work was done during the off-season, and even then his time was limited due mostly to the fact that Oksana liked to spend as much time together before they more or less ended it when he had to fly out to Pittsburgh. But last summer, things had ended much earlier than anticipated. And he thought that it meant that he could be more productive. Little did he know the kind of block he would experience.

It wasn’t merely an artistic block. It was a personal one too.

He could, without shame, separate the aspects of Sidney that he could find technically pleasing and carnally arousing. He was speaking from the former when he said “Maybe I can paint you?”

Evgeni was not accustomed to the appalled expression after making such a request, especially from someone with so much beauty. But this was Sidney Crosby. He was not like regular beautiful people. At times he wondered if Sidney was completely ignorant of how striking he was.

Sidney sputtered, his face twisting unpleasantly while trying to form a coherent response. Evgeni waited patiently. “Me? You want to—wha—huh?”

“Yes. Maybe sketch first, see how it goes?” When it came to his art, Evgeni was not ashamed to ask candidly for exactly what he wanted.

“But—uh—“

“Is okay. You not have to if not want to.” Life would have been far too easy if Sidney offered himself without hesitation.

“It’s not that, Geno. I mean, I’m flattered, I really am. But me? I’m—I’m just—“

“Perfect subject,” Evgeni said without elaborating further.

After Sidney did some more incoherent sputtering Evgeni laughed. “No pressure Sid. Just think about it. But would mean a lot to me.”

Sidney nodded numbly and excused himself.

Evgeni was pretty sure that Sidney was a lost cause so he was caught completely off-guard when the very next morning Sidney stomped right up to him the moment he walked into the change room, his UnderArmour leaving little to the imagination and basically reinforcing everything he thought about Sidney, and said “I’ll try it.”

It took him a brief moment to register what Sidney was talking about. Just the briefest before he couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Try what?” Flower, ever the gossip, suddenly was hovering.

“He’s going to draw me,” Sidney said, challenging anyone around him to chirp. Evgeni couldn’t decide whether or not letting the team be privy to it was a good idea. It was a lot to digest in such a short time span.

“What? You don’t see enough of yourself everywhere?” Nealsy shouted from his side of the room. Sidney’s voice had clearly carried as far.

“This is different,” Sidney insisted with the stubbornness of a child trying to justify an extravagant purchase to his parents. “I saw his stuff. It’s really good. I’d…” He turned to glance at Evgeni and his cheeks coloured attractively. “I’d be honoured to have him draw me. Or paint. Or whatever.”

“That sounds pretty gay,” said Duper with a candour earned from rooming with Sidney on road trips for more than three seasons.

Evgeni watched Sidney’s eyes narrow comically in Duper’s direction before stomping off, just as he had come. While the room erupted into laughter, Evgeni sat down beside Nealsy and slumped his back against the wall. This was going to require some planning.

Apparently Sidney had the same idea.

“When do you want to start?”

“Whenever you want.”

“Maybe before practice, so I’m not all that sweaty yet, and then we can give ourselves some time so that you can change too afterwards—“

Okay, so their ideas didn’t exactly run parallel.

“You want me draw you at rink in hockey gear?” Evgeni was incredulous.

Sidney stared back at him as if Evgeni’s outrage was unforeseen. “I thought that’s what you wanted to do?”

He wanted Sidney to remove more clothing, not add more on. He probably wouldn’t phrase it like that though. “Not natural pose. Can do at my place. Warmer, easier to draw. More relaxing.” Besides, he didn’t think he could get Sidney to stay still on a sheet of ice in full gear for even five minutes, let alone fifty.

“Okay, sure.” They made arrangements to start the next day off they had. “What should I wear?”

“Whatever you want.”

Sidney nodded, looking thoughtful. Even under the harsh fluorescent rink lights the tilt of his chin looked poised, dignified. Evgeni drew a sharp breath. He hoped that he wasn’t in over his head.

 

Sidney showed up at Evgeni’s house the next day wearing the pre-game suit and tie. Not that he didn’t look every bit as good in it, but it was a bit… much.

Sidney contended that he wanted to look respectable. Evgeni at least coaxed the tie, jacket, and a few of the top buttons of his dress shirt off.

“This feels kind of weird,” Sidney murmured while Evgeni smoothed down the collar and let his fingers graze recklessly against his strong neck.

“You do this all the time, Sid. With photographers,” Evgeni pointed out, although he did concede to himself a faint squirming in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, but this is… different. You know? But I’m willing to try it.”

Evgeni nodded, wishing that Sidney hadn’t gelled his hair that day so that he could have tousled it a bit with his fingers so that the light could bounce softly against those natural curls.

“Uh, Geno?”

Maybe he’d been caught looking a little too long. “Studying,” Evgeni said with the appearance of practiced absentmindedness. His quick recovery was vindicated when Sidney’s visibly relaxed against the chair Evgeni had seated him on.

Sidney was still fidgeting like an impatient child. “How should I pose?”

There was nothing wrong with his pose prior to the inquiry. He rested his hands against his thighs, crossed his legs, splayed his fingers, uncrossed his legs, put his hands over the balls of his knees, then finally let them drop onto his sides while fixing Evgeni with an expectant look.

Evgeni sighed. “Natural pose.”

“I don’t have a natural pose. You’ve seen me in pictures. I’m not totally oblivious. I know I look ridiculous in them. I just don’t know what to do with…” He waved his hands in the air before letting them drop back down again, defeated.

He thought for a moment, regarding Sidney while he stroked his chin. It hit him not a moment too soon.

He went into his garage and emerged not long later a hockey stick. Sidney gave Evgeni a weary look but took to it instantly, letting the blade rest between his feet. His right hand curled against the shaft while his left arm draped casually over his thigh.

“Perfect.”

Sidney broke the pose momentarily to read the lettering on the shaft of the stick. “It says _71 Gino_ on it.”

“Is okay. Can draw _Crosby 87_ instead. Or whatever you want. Even leave blank.” Evgeni didn’t intend to spend much of his focus on that. After retrieving his sketchbook from his drafting table he took his own seat in front of Sidney, checking again to make sure Sidney hadn’t reverted back to his hands-in-his-pockets pose again. “Comfortable?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

He couldn’t help but let a small grin slip. “Good.”

Sidney was a natural subject. He had excellent command of his muscles and whenever he did move he was able to replicate perfectly his previous stance.

“This feels a bit like the Vanity Fair photo shoot I had with Ovi,” Sidney said without prompt while Evgeni’s pencil focused on the creases of Sidney’s dress pants.

“Mm,” Evgeni replied absently. “Better this time. Me instead of Sasha.”

“He’s all right. He’s a bit…” Sidney wrinkled his nose. “Out there? Wild? But he’s not so bad. We need those kinds of personalities to draw more interest to the sport.”

Evgeni coloured in the shadows of Sidney’s back then made a smooth line up to begin detailing Sidney’s face. “Hm. And then there you. Well-behave. You draw interest too. Mostly to girls.”

Sidney winced to take attention away from the blush going all the way down to his neck. That wouldn’t do. “How Taylor doing? You think she make Olympic team?”

That did the trick. Sidney babbled on excitedly about his sister for the rest of the session to the point where Evgeni had to cut him off once he was satisfied with the work in front of him.

“Wow Geno, that’s beautiful,” Sidney said after Evgeni had turned his sketchbook to face Sidney for the subject’s judgment.

“Beautiful subject make beautiful picture,” Evgeni said before he could check himself. Sidney blushed harder though, but in spite of that stood up and stepped closer to have a better look.

“Good hands on and off the ice,” he chuckled.

Evgeni smiled back. Perhaps he could do a few minor touch-ups but he didn’t want to mar the magic of the moment so he dated and signed the picture then gently ripped the paper off by the perforated edge and presented it to Sidney.

“You keep,” he affirmed as Sidney stood in front of him with a dumbfounded expression.

He refused at first, even taking a step backwards to avoid doing so. “I—I can’t just take it—“ He protested weakly.

“Stop,” Evgeni snapped pre-emptively as he saw Sidney’s hands reach into his back pocket.

“Let me write you a check—“

“No. Crazy Sid? I not take your money. Is yours. Gift from me. You sit for me, I give to you.” And just to make it final, he grabbed Sidney’s right hand with his free one, pressed the sketch to it and clamped Sidney’s fingers against the heavy paper.

The awe in his eyes were the same reserved for a brand new hockey stick and that for Evgeni was thanks enough. But Sidney persisted further. “Thanks Geno. This is really special to me. I’m gonna frame it and put it in my office.” He turned up to look at Evgeni with a bright smile. “I owe you one. If there’s anything you need from me then let me know.”

He shook his head and ushered Sidney downstairs to the kitchen where he could fix them something to eat, and he could hear himself say that this favour wasn’t necessary but his head was swimming with the thought of how a Sidney Crosby painting could do wonders for his creative block. It wasn’t until he observed Sidney leaning with his back against the counter as he tipped the glass of berry and chocolate almond milk smoothie into his mouth that he gained the courage to ask.

To Sidney’s credit, he did not choke on his drink, nor did he drop the glass in his hand. Rather, he swallowed the smoothie in his mouth and set the glass down onto the counter then tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. “You want to paint me?”

“Yes.”

“Not that I mind or anything, but why me?”

Evgeni pursed his lips together, trying to find the right words in English. “I say from side of artist, not in creepy way, that you are nice-looking person, good to paint.”

Sidney ducked his head, probably blushing down to his neck, and said to the tiled floor of Evgeni’s kitchen that “Okay, Geno. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

 

It was a dangerous proposition that he had made. It felt like a betrayal of trust. Evgeni was good about establishing and maintaining boundaries. Looking was fine. Thinking was an impulse that could not be controlled. But taking and touching, even without (overt) sexual intent, was crossing the line, however blurred he could make it in the name of his art. But there was no denying that this is what he wanted—what he needed—and if Sidney acquiesced then who was he to turn it down?

 

“I’ve never done this before with anyone,” Sidney said, in Russian, which was weird for the obvious reason that Sidney didn’t speak a word of Russian. “It’s my first time.”

Evgeni believed him because a balance of probabilities suggested that Sidney likely didn’t have very many artistically-inclined friends if he had spent his whole life being associated only with hockey-related people. However he did have his doubts, stemming from how naturally his body fell into the perfect position and how smouldering his expression remained as he stared at Evgeni, unblinking. His chest and legs were bare. So were Evgeni’s. He’d painted in his underwear before, but only in rare instances when he couldn’t be bothered to find a change of clothes, and never in front of other people.

“I’m the first one then,” Evgeni replied. Sidney smirked back and Evgeni took that as an invitation to come forward, towards the bed. He readjusted the silky bed sheets so that they rode lower against Sidney’s torso and higher against his thighs.

Smooth fingertips glided up his arm then clamped down on his bicep, pulling him down. Sidney let out a soft moan as Evgeni laid himself flush over him and pushed his thighs further apart to grant himself closer access.

Sidney brushed his lips softly against the shell of Evgeni’s ear and whispered “Zhenya, I want you to touch me.”

“I need me to touch you,” Evgeni let his hands slide further up Sidney’s sculpted thighs until—

“Ugh!” That sound of frustration was universal in any language. And that annoyingly perky ringtone was his phone alarm.

Where the hell had that come from? That was not the way he wanted to go about touching Sidney.

Not that touching Sidney was something Evgeni considered often.

He could at the very least reason that as long as he wasn’t actively pursuing Sidney then he wasn’t doing anything that he ought to be ashamed of.

In spite of that he couldn’t look at Sidney at all during practice and was already mentally ranking various excuses of how to get out of painting Sidney in order of feasibility in his head when after practice while heading back to the dressing room Sidney fell into step with him and asked “When do you want to do the painting thing?”

His willpower would have been strong if not for that tousled, sweat-soaked hair curling against Sidney’s face. Evgeni was hopeless. “Any time you want.”

“I’m available after practice tomorrow if you want to get started earlier. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until after the road trip.”

Evgeni nodded and confirmed the meeting. Hopefully that would be enough time for the memory of the previous night’s dream to dissipate.

And he was still banking on that, because its effects still lingered during their game against the Oilers. He whiffed a shot or two, took an undisciplined penalty that he could even admit had been stupid and was a minus one despite their 4-2 victory. Overall, not a good game for number seventy-one. It wasn’t his fault. The way Sidney panted as he climbed his way onto the bench after a shift was distracting to say the least.

But he would endure it—and the following night’s dream—for the sake of his art.

“Should I change?” Sidney asked him after their optional skate. “Um,” his eyes trained down, taking in his own casual attire of Pens sweatshirt, track pants and sneakers.

Evgeni shook his head. “Anything good.”

“But I want to be prepared,” he insisted, just on the periphery of whiny.

“Prepared for what?” Flower piped up, eyeing them curiously.

“I teach him, paint,” Evgeni blurted before Sidney could get a word in edgewise. “Good outfit for painting, no?”

“You’re teaching him how to paint?” Flower’s eyes widened, his head flicking to face Sidney. “Why are you learning how to paint?”

“Um,” Sidney bit his lip and scanned his surroundings desperately. “Because I think it would be nice to try out.”

Duper made a loud sound of acknowledgement in the background before stepping into the foreground. “I know what’s really going on.” He gave Sidney a feral grin, who in return merely looked back looking unjustly terrified. “You just want to learn how to paint so then you can try to beat him in that too.”

The room erupted with laughter and an added chirp or two. Sidney giggled and let Duper draw him into a headlock. After that was done Duper punched Evgeni in the shoulder and said “We wanna see that picture that you drew of Sid.”

“Please tell us he was wearing clothes,” Flower added, his earnestness plain in his voice.

To Evgeni’s shock, Sidney promptly pulled out his phone. Several teammates were immediately looking over his shoulder, groaning as he opened the wrong application, closed it (“Noob,” someone shouted, probably Tanger) and scrolled around until he had found the correct file.

“Of course you’re holding a hockey stick,” Beau said with a sigh.

“Hey, that’s not bad Geno,” Brooks said, parting from the group to give Evgeni a congratulatory slap in the back.

“Draw any pictures of naked chicks?” Robert Bortuzzo inquired discerningly.

Brandon Sutter offered his input: “Why draw them when you can fuck them instead?”

 

Sidney texted, again confirming that his choice of attire would be negligible to Evgeni’s vision for the painting. It was only a half truth.

“If you not want, we can do something else, but bed is comfortable,” Evgeni reinforced his point by smoothing his hands along the down-filled comforter. “Posing for painting is much longer. Good to be comfortable.”

Sidney had his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his 412 branded hoodie, looking doubtful but not entirely against the idea. Evgeni was going to cling to that contemplative brow wrinkle and take any opening he could get. “Isn’t that a little… uh, intimate? I mean, what would the guys think?”

“Guys think you here to learn paint.”

“Oh. Right.” Sidney regarded the bed again. “Why did you tell them that again?”

“Fun secret for us, yes?” Evgeni winked at him, and when Sidney flinched ever so slightly he added “Also don’t want people to know that I make two piece of art with you and none for everyone else. Get jealous.”

Plus none of them quite had a body like Sid’s. It was beginning to dawn on him that this was probably bordering on creeper-ville.

But Sidney to his credit sat down on the bed, bouncing a little bit in his seat. He let his hand skim a small patch of the comforter. “You want me to wear my jeans and hoodie into your bed?” He paused. “Is this your bed?”

That offended Evgeni a little. “This is guest room, Sid.” Was that not obvious from the bowl of potpourri on the side table? Or the robin egg coloured bed frame? “If want, you can put clothes over there,” he pointed to the armchair in the corner of the room.

Now Sidney was really beginning to look creeped out. Evgeni sighed. He knew less appealing guys that were more than happy to take off their clothes, and that was just on the team. But he had to save face here. “Sid, promise you. Will look better. More natural. Trust me.” Off Sidney’s continued skeptical expression, he added “We friends, right? I know is strange. If you not want to do, I understand, we not have to if you not comfortable.”

“No, uh, it’s not that. But, uh, I usually wear a t-shirt when I go to bed,” Sidney said uncertainly, like the whole subject to him was scandalous from the start. “And, uh, I just have this thing on right now.” He jutted his hands forward in the kangaroo pouch.

“Can wear one of my t-shirts if want,” Evgeni suggested. Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to paint someone wearing a God damned hoodie to bed.

When Sidney didn’t answer immediately, Evgeni nodded. It was unfair to expect Sidney to consent to this. It wasn’t a sexual thing to Evgeni, but he could see why Sidney would think it was. Intimacy was what he was aiming for, although not in the carnal sense. He would never dream of laying a hand on Sidney if that wasn’t what he wanted. “Is okay Sid. We do something else. What you want? Maybe sit in chair again? I think that more comfortable for you.”

“No! Geno, I trust your judgment. If you think this is good art, then I’ll do it.” Sidney paused just for a perceptible moment before defiantly flinging his hoodie and jeans onto the armchair. Evgeni watched helplessly as Sidney, just in boxer shorts, climbed right into bed. He steeled himself. This would not be weird. He would not allow things to become weird. It was just a painting, and Sidney was just a man. He could do this. He had wanted to do this for a long time.

Sidney sat up, letting the cover lap around his waist. Evgeni tried not to stare too obviously. He tried and failed, if Sidney’s nervous laughter was a barometer of success. “Um, so, what should I do? What looks, you know, tasteful?”

A few poses struck Evgeni in his mind, none of them overtly sexual (he didn’t want to break Sidney’s trust by taking advantage of him). He hoped he wasn’t being inappropriate or striking a nerve when he instructed Sidney to turn to the empty side of the bed. But it did have some vestiges of tastefulness.

Plus Sidney’s shoulders looked gorgeous.

“Where phone, Sid?”

“In the pocket of my hoodie.”

Sidney squawked as Evgeni tossed the newly acquired iPhone onto the bed. He snatched it on the first bounce while in mid-air in a keen display of his much celebrated hand-eye coordination.

“Should get case for phone,” Evgeni observed as a non-sequitor.

“Maybe,” Sidney murmured, eyes already fixed onto the screen.

“You use phone for entertainment. I get stuff ready.” Evgeni wasn’t one for much prep or rituals when it came to his art—spontaneity was the name of the game here—but he liked to be ready when inspiration struck.

“Okay,” Sidney replied, his phone already chiming with incoming messages.

He took in the colours, the shapes and the shadows then took out his brushes, his acrylics and pencil. At this point it looked like Sidney was playing a game on his phone because he was completely engrossed and no longer had that self-conscious wrinkle in his forehead. It was a scene so natural, so artless that Evgeni took his pencil and began drawing the outline for his painting.

It was a good fifteen minutes before Sidney looked up. By then, Evgeni had a sizeable portion of the outline complete. “Are you still prepping?” He asked, looking at Evgeni with a bit of wariness.

Evgeni looked up from his canvas to give Sidney a disarming smile. “Almost. Just relax, Sid. Play with phone. Don’t worry about me.”

He took a deep breath and repeated to himself that Sidney was just a man. Yes, a man that he had yearned to paint for years, that had infiltrated his dreams but still, just a man.

“Callahan broke his thumb blocking a shot,” Sidney said out loud, almost to himself. His gaze broke away momentarily from his phone and he flexed his own thumb for a few seconds, going nearly cross-eyed as he held his thumb up to his face. “I should probably buy a better hand cream.”

“Mhmm,” Evgeni hummed, mixing his white base with just a dab blue acrylic to get the right shade for the comforter.

“You think they’ll fire Peter DeBoer any time soon?”

Evgeni shrugged. “Not his fault. Any Russian player leaving will hurt team a lot. Need more time to find another to be best player on team.”

Sidney giggled but didn’t counter Evgeni’s point. Sidney continued scrolling through his phone. “I used think that being a head coach would be a terrible job because everyone would be looking at you and blaming you for everything. It’s so much pressure and responsibility. But I think after I retired I might consider that, if they let me. It would be an interesting challenge.”

“Only have to ask, Sidney Crosby get anything he want.” Evgeni always had trouble coming up with the right shade of colour for skin. This was already his second discarded attempt.

“Right now I want a big slice of chocolate fudge cake. With ice cream. And mini Reese’s peanut butter cups.”

“Bad coach, Sid. Bad example.”

Sidney smiled, completely free from refrain, and Evgeni couldn’t help smiling back. It was a good look on him. This was a good idea. Better than his first vision. What would he do with a painting of a sad, sexually frustrated Sidney? Commiserate and long to fill it with a happy ending, that was what. He didn’t need that in his thoughts at night.

“Bored yet, Sid?”

Sidney shrugged and scratched the skin by his underarm. “I guess we’re kinda used to it with all the photo shoots eh? But my ass is kind of sore.”

Fair enough. He set his paint brush down on an absorbent paper towel. “Probably enough for the day then.” He ducked down to clear his instruments but caught an eyeful of taut muscle as Sidney climbed off the bed and stretched. His was a body so clinical that it would have been a sin not to take it all in. Sidney must have caught Evgeni watching because he giggled and scampered toward the armchair to slip back into his clothes. Evgeni let out a long, silent exhale.

By the time Evgeni had packed everything away Sidney was looming over him with his hands back in his kangaroo pockets. “Can I see what you have so far?”

Evgeni shook his head. “Not yet. Private.” He didn’t make a move to block Sidney’s view further though, trusting him to respect his wishes.

He was right. “Okay. I understand.”

Evgeni stood up. “Hungry?”

He didn’t have chocolate fudge cake with ice cream and mini Reese’s peanut butter cups but he did have some vatrushka from his latest trip to his Russian bakery. Sidney didn’t even bat an eye at the foreign looking pastry or at his diet. He took a big bite, chewed, swallowed, then asked Evgeni about his opinion on the Lapierre hit. Judging by the easy way Sidney leaned against the counter, mouth running non-stop, Evgeni concluded that it had been a successful session.

 

“How are your painting lessons going?” Duper asked during breakfast at the hotel.

“Good,” Sidney replied with what sounded like sincerity to Evgeni.

Duper turned to Evgeni. “Seriously, Geno. You can tell us the truth. How is Sid?”

“Good,” he repeated, giving Sidney sideways grin until the recipient caught it. He turned back to Duper and said just loud enough so that his voice extended beyond the immediate conversation. “He natural. Very open to different things. Think he not sure first but fast learner.”

“What are you painting? Hockey rink? Hockey players? Hockey something?” said Tanger. “If your answer doesn’t contain the word ‘hockey’ then we will know that you are lying.”

“Um, it’s private,” said Sidney, giggling like he couldn’t help it.

“Shit, you know what you should do?” Duper jumped in, unable to resist. “Paint Sid while he’s posing like Rose from ‘Titanic’. The girls would go mental. Someone would probably pay $8.7 million for it too.”

“Don’t flatter them,” Kuni interjected. “Maybe they’d get 87 cents.”

The guys laughed, and Evgeni glanced over to Sidney to gauge his reaction. His eyes met Evgeni’s and they crinkled up into a smile. Evgeni felt his breath hitch and couldn’t hold the gaze any longer. He was utterly hopeless.

Sidney must have been in a good mood the next day he poses for Evgeni because he shed his clothing quickly and then jumped on the bed, doing his best Rose from ‘Titanic’ pose. Evgeni bit his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning.

“How’s this look?” Sidney let out a trill of laughter then put his arms down. “I think my friends used to watch that movie because it was an easy way to see some boobs. Remember those days, Geno, when there was no internet?”

No internet would have probably been preferable. Then no one would have been able to trace his second persona back to him, then the team would have never found out, then he wouldn’t have been painting a gorgeous man one garment away from naked in his bed, loyal patrons be damned. “Cannot remember world like that.”

“It was a simpler time,” said Sidney. His biceps protruded as he stretched contently. “Where people actually had time for others. Where people might be doing stuff that we’re doing.”

“Don’t think many people paint other people,” Evgeni pointed out, contradicting his point by getting his mixing mediums out all the while.

“I know. But it’s just nice to do something… so bare bones. People have been painting for centuries, and hopefully people will keep doing it in the future.” Sidney scrunched up the comforter in his fist, released and continued. “I really do love hockey. But I think there are so many components to it now that make it really complicated.”

“Like what?” Evgeni began working on the colours of the headboard.

“All the media stuff. All the endorsements. Even travelling. So much time away. I know it’s part of the game now and we as professional hockey players need to do everything we can to promote the game, but I really miss just being a kid and not having to worry about anything else besides playing my hockey.” He leaned back against the headboard and thumped the bedspread in what looked like contained frustration.

“You handle very well,” Evgeni offered. It was true. There was a reason why he was a media darling. Hockey was a business as much as it was a sport, and it was a business that Sidney knew in and out. Off that, he added since the topic was still open “Talk well to cameras. Look good in posters.” The corner of his mouth slipped up.

Thankfully Sidney hadn’t noticed it behind the canvas. After a pause, he said, cautiously, “Geno, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

A long moment lapsed to the point where Evgeni stopped painting to look up at Sidney. Sidney flushed when their eyes made contact. “Um, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“What is question, Sid?” he said in the same voice he reserved for skittish children obviously forced on him by their exuberant Pens-loving parents.

Sidney gripped at the comforter again and closed his eyes. He let out a sharp exhale before blurting “Do you think I’m attractive?”

The question took Evgeni completely off-guard. He didn’t dare say that he considered Sidney one of the most beautiful people that he had ever met in his life. But he gathered enough courage to answer in all seriousness “I think you very attractive.”

Evgeni fumbled through his glass jar for a fresh paint brush. The tip of the one he’d been using had all dried up.

 

“How far along are you in the painting?” Sidney asked as he bent over to pull his pants back on. Evgeni was a good, well-rounded boy—man!—but only a saint could refrain from sneaking a look.

“Done in one or two more sittings, I think.” The realization made him feel inexplicably distraught.

Sidney spun around to face Evgeni with his mouth hanging open. “That fast?!”

“I work on while you not here as well,” he said, matter-of-factly. He didn’t want Sidney to have some sort of false impression of Evgeni as some super genius artist. It took a great deal of time and effort. Painting a portrait was like having a child: both required a conception of sorts, preparation and the right kinds of tools, they required full commitment by both participants, some glory, some pain, and if done correctly would result in something living and beautiful. At least, in most occasions.

So far, Sidney had held up his end of the bargain handsomely. The directors were right—Sidney was very easy to work with. He was a stunning subject.

Said subject stood in front of him then, fully dressed. What a shame, Evgeni thought suddenly, that Pittsburgh had such a cold climate. “Want anything to eat? Drink?”

Sidney shook his head. “Nathalie’s making homemade pizza so she told me to come over. I want to build up an appetite for it.” His face brightened suddenly. “Do you want to come over? If you don’t already have dinner plans I mean.” He must have caught the startled look on Evgeni’s face and misread it completely because he followed up with “They don’t mind, seriously. There’s going to be extra food anyway because Austin’s overnighting with his hockey team, and she said that if I know anyone else that wants to come to invite them over.”

How could he say no to those eyes? “Sure, if okay.”

Sidney called to confirm that it was okay with the Lemieuxs (and it was if Nathalie’s enthusiastic “Of course Sid! We can’t wait!” over the phone could be construed as consent). Evgeni grabbed a striped dress shirt to go over his black v-neck to look somewhat presentable.

“Oh, and by the way,” Sidney said as he passed Evgeni’s car to hop into his own. “I told them that I’ve been coming here to learn how to paint.” His giggle seemed to border on nervousness. “If we’re keeping a secret, then we should do it properly, right?”

Evgeni feigned admonishment. “Sid. Very bad to lie to boss and his family.”

He had to slip into his car quickly so that Sidney wouldn’t see him grinning.

 

Apparently Nathalie was quite the art aficionado herself, which may have accounted for her fervent approval of Evgeni as a dinner guest. She spoke to him animatedly and made sure his plate never had fewer than two slices. Her voice was warm and her interest was genuine. It was no wonder why Sidney found it near impossible to leave this place. It felt like a home.

“How sad are you on a scale of one to a thousand that Neal’s on IR?” Alexa shouted in one of the small spaces where Nathalie wasn’t speaking.

“A million,” was his honest reply. Everyone at the table laughed.

“How is Sid as an art student?” Mario cut in while the opportunity was still present.

“Sid good student. Easy to teach, does what I say. Natural.” Just to add some levity, he said, “But still better at hockey. Hands better on ice.”

“That basically applies to everything,” Alexa said, sounding eager to impart more. “I tried to teach Sid how to needlework once. It was pathetic.”

“Hey, I managed to make a ball,” Sidney said defensively.

“You basically achieve the same result by crumpling the string together,” Alexa pointed out gleefully.

Sidney sneered back at her and tore a piece of pizza with his teeth with exaggerated aggression.

“Everything take time,” Evgeni said, trying to placate the two. “Learn step by step. Like learning how to skate. Can’t be best at everything. Not even Sidney Crosby.”

“There can only be one hockey player who can paint,” said Alexa agreeably, smiling sunnily at Evgeni. Then she turned to Sidney. “You, get your own thing. Learn the piano or something.”

Evgeni missed Sidney’s response when Mario turned to Evgeni and said “What are your plans now, that you’re known? Are you still going to make art? I mean, you should. We saw the drawing that you made of Sid—“

“It was exquisite,” Nathalie jumped in.

“—And we think it would be a real shame if you stopped just because you lost your anonymity.”

“Not sure,” Evgeni responded truthfully. He was still unaccustomed to speaking about his life as an artist so openly—and in English, too—but he knew that they were expecting more of an explanation. “For me, there no… timeline?” They both nodded their understanding. “I like make art. But sometime, if not feel like make, then don’t make. If feel like, then I make.”

“Are you working on anything now?” Nathalie asked eagerly.

Evgeni grinned coyly. In the corner of his eye he saw Alexa attempt to paste a piece of pepperoni on Sidney’s face. “Is secret.”

 

“Philly finally won a game,” Sidney commented, unrestrained with his glee without the reporters around. “At this point what they should be trying to win is a first round draft pick.”

Sidney was human (and that needed reminding sometimes) and could be cruel when he wanted to be. At the very least he was prone to pettiness when things didn’t go his way. It was not very becoming but it was all part of the big picture of Sidney Crosby that Evgeni couldn’t help but find infuriatingly endearing. Evgeni set down his jar of paint brushes and waved one at Sidney menacingly. “Mean. Flyers are people too.”

Though, he was forced to concede, “Terrible people.” That earned a giggle from Sidney.

He intended to turn back to his supplies in order to finish setting up, but a flash of bright red caught his eye against the soft pastels of the bed. “New phone case?” He instinctively went in for a closer look.

“Yeah. I got it in Toronto.” He held it out for Evgeni’s inspection. Evgeni took Sidney’s phone in his hands and gave it a once-over, back to front. Of course it was a Canadian flag. It wasn’t even a good case, both cosmetically and practically. He told Sidney as much.

“Shut up, it’s a nice case,” he insisted, reaching for his phone back.

“Not nice when you drop phone and everything break into thousand pieces,” Evgeni pointed out, keeping the phone just out of Sidney’s grasp for no other reason than seeing the annoyed puffiness in Sidney’s cheeks. “What your background picture? Map of Canada?”

“No—“ another attempt by Sidney to reacquire his phone proved unsuccessful by Evgeni’s extended arm. “Geno—Gimme—“

They grappled, careless with their limbs and bodies with their single-minded efforts to gain or maintain possession of Sidney’s phone. It wasn’t until the phone had been knocked out of Evgeni’s hand by an errant elbow into his sternum when he realized he practically had a lapful of a nearly naked Sidney.

The phone thudded harmlessly against the carpeted flooring. Neither of them made any move towards it, or at all. He felt Sidney’s chest heaving against his own and my God, they were so close and Sidney felt so good and if he just leaned in a little closer he could—

Sidney scrambled off, twisting his way out of Evgeni’s arms, and reached over the side of the bed to procure his phone. His giggle was more of a gasp. “One piece,” he declared triumphantly.

“Lucky,” Evgeni muttered under his breath. He slid off the comforter and focused his attention on smoothing it out into a more respectable state. “We paint now.”

He turned quickly to his easel, could hear Sidney delay before shuffling under the covers. Evgeni took a moment himself before selecting the correct brush. The other brush handles clattered loudly against the lip of the glass jar.

 

Long after Sidney had left, after Evgeni had reheated and eaten his mother’s frozen pelmeni in his empty house, after he had gotten ready for bed he stopped by his guest room. Being the sucker for punishment that he was, he went in.

The bedspread had been made since Sidney’s departure: pristine with nothing to convey. He jerked his eyes away. Instead, he turned his attention to the adjacent painting.

He hadn’t lied when he told Sidney that one or two more sessions would have completed the portrait. That was calculated with their previous rate of progress. But after today, Evgeni had to cut the session short, for both their sakes’. Sidney said, while avoiding eye contact, that they could do another sitting after their next road trip. But by Sidney’s unconvincing tone of voice, Evgeni wasn’t counting on it.

He could finish the portrait without Sidney. He had taken in more than his fair share of bare chest, bare arms, bare face for him to do it by memory (how could he ever forget?). When he was struck by inspiration he added little details here and there, corrected imperfections and coloured in sections that he didn’t finish during the sitting.

At this point, he was happy with the way the bed had come along. It was the subject, however, that needed the work. This fact pained Evgeni, because Sidney had been so patient and accommodating. He’d struck the jackpot and was frittering the opportunity away. It disgusted him. He was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t he do it?

His thoughts jumped abruptly again, inadvertently to that episode with the phone, and God, Sidney was so warm, and his mouth, if Evgeni hadn’t hesitated, had kissed it instead, he wondered if Sidney would have kissed him back, let Evgeni slide his hands along Sidney’s muscled back, push him down against the rumpled sheets—

He wrenched himself away from the easel and went to bed.

 

It took the team all of two days for them to notice that some sort of tension had severed the relationship between Sidney and Evgeni. Pretty good for a group of dumb jocks. Because it wasn’t like the two of them had behaved much more differently than usual. Evgeni had tried his best to make it seem like nothing had happened—and really, nothing had happened, damn it all. Sidney must have been the one to give it away.

“Something happened with Sid? With your painting stuff?” Duper asked in a hushed voice during a break in their morning skate. Aha, so his inkling was correct.

At any rate, Evgeni reeled back. “Why? What Sid say?” He held his breath for the answer.

“He didn’t say anything. Which is what was weird. I asked him about it, and he got that look on his face, you know that look?” Duper did a fairly poor impression of Sidney’s deer-in-headlights expression. “And said ‘good, fine’, then changed the subject.”

Evgeni shrugged. “Nothing happen.”

Duper did not look convinced.

And neither did the rest of the team.

“Come on Geno, admit it. Sidney became insufferable after he figured out that he could not be the best at this after only one or two lessons and tried to stab you with your own paint brush,” Paul Martin surmised with more imaginative fancy than Evgeni thought capable from him.

“Then after Geno refused any more lessons Sidney poured paint thinner on you and tried to set you on fire.” Joe Vitale added. “How many lessons have you given Sid, by the way?”

“Three,” Evgeni relayed reluctantly, feeling like the answer had been ripped out of his chest.

“Oh, then, no wonder why Sid has gone psycho-pyromaniac.”

Evgeni couldn’t help looking over at the alleged psycho-pyromaniac in question. He looked panicked, exactly like a captain who had lost command of the room to his mutinous crew. Evgeni had to intervene. “Sid best student. I always teach him if he want me to. Never say no.”

The room fell silent, and under the critical stare of everyone in the room, Sidney said without hesitation “And I want to finish what we started.”

 

The feeling of guilt had not subsided. He couldn’t push this under the rug. And that was why he found himself in front of Sidney and Duper’s hotel room door, knuckles poised to knock. He took a breath to gather his strength. He could do this. He had to. It wasn’t just about his art anymore. If it was then he could just chalk it off as failure and await his next bout of inspiration. But Evgeni was more than just a painter to Sidney and Sidney was more than just a figure to be admired to Evgeni. Their bond extended beyond teammates as well. He needed to say something. To do something. Sidney deserved as much.

Thankfully Duper wasn’t the one to answer the door. In fact, he was nowhere in sight. Being Sidney’s road roommate meant the privilege of a larger room with divided sleeping areas.

Sidney greeted him and politely held the door open as he invited him inside. Evgeni stood in Sidney’s room feeling completely out of his element.

“Duper’s on the other side, getting ready for bed,” Sidney said without prompt.

“Okay,” Evgeni replied, unsure of how else to respond. He took a beat before beginning. “Sid, I sorry I make things awkward. I think, was unfair for me to ask you to sit for me. Ask for too much. I sorry.”

Sidney raised his arms up just before Evgeni had the chance to tell him that Sidney was relieved of his duties as his subject. “Geno, what are you saying? You didn’t do anything wrong.” After a brief pause, probably with an aim at levity he added “I mean, besides make fun of my phone cover.”

“I sorry about that too,” he said, although not as genuinely. He gave Sidney a small smile and received one back in return, much to his relief. “I not…” He scrunched his face, searching desperately for the correct English words. He hated having conversations like this even in his native tongue, much less in a language he still didn’t exactly have a handle on. It always made him feel additionally disadvantaged. “Mad if you can’t sit for me anymore. I okay. Understand.”

“What? But I owe you, for that drawing.”

That stung even more. He couldn’t believe that he had put Sidney in that position. “You owe nothing, Sid. I ask for too much for… easy sketch. I feel bad. Sorry.”

“It means a lot to me, easy or not. And I liked doing the sittings.” Sidney paused in thought. “Well, not moving isn’t that fun, but talking and spending time with you was fun. I like helping you. And…” He ducked his head down and mumbled “I don’t know. It made me feel special.”

Evgeni had to laugh at that, and he earnestly hoped that it didn’t sound cruel in Sidney’s ears. “Sid, you not feel special enough? You go to DMV one time, people talk about for month. You are most special player in hockey.”

He could see Sidney’s face reddening even turned down. “I mean, I liked the way you made me feel special.”

The words sounded wretched out of his heart and made Evgeni catch his breath. It took him a moment to digest it. His own heart was fluttering. “Sid?”

He looked up at Evgeni, drawing shallow breaths as Evgeni closed the short distance between them. But Evgeni didn’t hesitate this time. And he was rewarded instantly for his haste when Sidney kissed him right back.

 

“It’s great! What’s wrong with it?”

It wasn’t going to be easy to explain it to Sidney, especially in English. He just hadn’t captured what he had intended to. At least not on the canvas. The intended was sitting right on his thigh in his portrait uniform. He wrapped his arms around Sidney’s waist and rested his chin on Sidney’s shoulder. “Can’t describe. But things wrong. Need to fix.”

“Well, I think it’s really good.”

“Is because you easy to please,” Evgeni reinforced this point by nuzzling Sidney’s neck and eliciting a string of giggles that buzzed against his lips. It still thrilled him that he was allowed to do this: to not only touch Sidney as he pleased but also earn an equally as pleased reaction.

As distracting as it was to have Sidney pressed snugly at his chest, it wasn’t enough to tear his gaze away from the painting in front of him. Maybe it had been too ambitious of an endeavour to think that he could capture his subject’s splendour in a mere painting. Maybe it could be left to someone with better talents, but the idea of sharing Sidney with someone else was definitely out of the question. Not every painting was as envisioned. Sometimes it wasn’t meant to be, and it was a reality that every artist had to accept. Sometimes the anguish proved more difficult than expected. It wasn’t the case that day. Instead, he turned his attention to the artless being in front of him and nudged them both toward the bed.

The moan through parted lips was just like one out his dreams. He traced the marble-like skin with his hands, his mouth, but warm, slick, as he mapped it through. He pressed them tighter, until they were both moving frantically and Sidney was gasping his name, shaking until collapsing onto his back. Evgeni would never share this beauty with anyone else.

“Have other ideas for paintings though,” Evgeni murmured into Sidney’s jaw when he had caught his breath.

Sidney twisted onto his side to look at Evgeni, sated and grinning contently and dear lord, his eyes would never experience anything lovelier. “Like what?”

“Lots of ideas. You will see.”

 

A mere two weeks later he took Sidney by the hand and brought him to his studio to unveil his latest work. Once Evgeni had flung the door open, Sidney had stopped short in the threshold with his mouth hanging open.

“Is gift, for you.” He squeezed Sidney’s hand.

“It’s… wow.” Sidney stepped in at last to examine the painting in front of him. It was a copy of one of the many pictures that his parents had taken of the team on the ice over the last few years. After sorting through literally thousands of photographs he had selected the one of Sidney that he liked best, blew it up on his MacBook Pro and printed it out as a guide. He had worked on it tirelessly and had at last felt good enough to reveal it to the critic he sought approval from most.

“What you think?”

“It’s… my God Geno, I can’t believe you made this. It’s beautiful.”

“You beautiful,” he couldn’t help saying. Once he started, once he realized that he could, he didn’t want to stop. “I make for you.”

Sidney turned to Evgeni smiling widely before leaning up and planting a firm kiss on his lips. That was something he didn’t want to stop doing either. At last Sidney pulled away to have a second look at the painting in front of them. Evgeni pressed his nose into Sidney’s hair. “I hope you’re still working on the first painting.”

He had been adamant that Evgeni finish what he had started, and Evgeni had reluctantly agreed because hey, he wasn’t going to turn down Sidney in his underwear in his bed. He let out a long suffering sigh. “Yes, Sid, I still work on it. Need your help.”

“All right then, let’s get to it.” Sidney made a direct path to the guest bedroom but was stopped when Evgeni snagged his arm.

“Paint still drying, have to wait.” The corner of Evgeni’s mouth turned up.

Sidney's surprised expression turned warm. “Okay,” and smiled into Evgeni’s kiss.


End file.
